


You had me at Hello

by Fuuma



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 2000s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Het, Homophobic Language, M/M, Phone Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Slash, Slow Burn, Stucky Bingo 2019, Tony is the best worst friend or the worst best friend ever, a bit of steggy (oneside)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22681996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuuma/pseuds/Fuuma
Summary: «Hey, baby doll.»Steve swallows words, breath, brain.For a long moment the only thing he can do is look at the void, with the mobile in his hands and a heart that has just exploded in his chest.On the other side of the line they must not have liked the pause; the voice gets impatient.«Are you still there?»Little by little Steve comes out of the torpor in which the whole body is locked up, finding himself wrapped in the low and persuasive tones of an unknown voice that he hears for the first time and that, for the first time, leaves him with his ass trembling with anticipation on a dormitory chair.[ Written for the Stucky Bingo 2019 ]
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9
Collections: Stucky Bingo 2019





	You had me at Hello

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Stucky Bingo 2019 - the squares will be specified in the reference chapters.  
> ( also sorry for any errors, I rarely write in English )

_Damn you, Stark!  
_Tony knocked him down with Tequila Boom Boom shots and Steve feels stupid just because he gave him the rope. After a week spent pulling himself out of all the bullshit that Stark proposed him, he found himself without excuses, armed only with a pathetic truth: _I have to study; no matter what you say, I'll still prefer the company of a good book to any party organized by your fraternity.  
_Obviously the friend had a lot to say and, as the whole Columbia University already knows too well, the only way to silence Tony Stark is to surrender to his goddamn whims.  
Surrendering, succumbing, regretting and crawling along the corridor of a dormitory that, for the little that Steve's pounding head can understand at that moment, could even be the girls' one.  
He hopes not. He hopes that Stark has taken pity on him for once and dumped him in front of the right door. He hopes that the key, which he's been trying to stick in the keyhole for five good minutes, will sooner or later find the keyhole.  
He's not tired, he's empty. He has in his ears the echoes of loud music that somewhere on campus still rumbles, he has in his throat the taste of the last shot that Tony challenged him to swallow, he has on his clothes the smell of smoke and joints. And yet, when on his eighth attempt he manages to open the door of the room, he feels exactly like that space: empty.  
Until the first coinage engulfs his stomach, going up the esophagus and forcing him to a furious race out of the room, towards the bathrooms.  
_Damn you, Stark!  
_It's not that Tony didn't offer to keep him company until the morning (he automatically discarded any sexual allusions), but if he's not an easy guy to handle soberly, imagine now that Steve's veins are pumping tequila and the drops of sweat that pervade his forehead and freeze his back smell of alcohol.  
And then there's the bet.  
The lost one.  
«I don't have to do it...»  
Talking: Big mistake.  
Among the lime green tiles, the whisper rumbles like the sound of an alarm clock piercing his ears.  
He presses his head with his hands, squeezing his eyes until white fireworks explode behind his eyelids, forcing him to reopen them.  
He's still wearing his coat and his backpack hangs from his left arm. _Bring your books if you want to, Geek_ , advised him Stark - and he, as a good idiot, believed him. He hoped for it. Or maybe not, when he thinks about it - even if he would rather not, because when the few remaining grey cells set in motion, the pain slapped him with force - he let himself be convinced because, after all, he didn't mind the idea of a night away from studies, worries, the life of a good boy.  
A night of leisure.  
It wouldn't have been bad if it hadn't ended in alcohol & rock'n'roll.  
There would be _sex_ , but that, if you like, is the part that Steve would prefer to fly over. He's not sure if it's going to end well.  
Let his right hand fall back dead weight into his backpack, looking for his cell phone. When he pulls it out, liquid eyes look at the display to find an address book that in a year must have filled with just a dozen numbers.  
It twists its nose. He doesn't know if it's because of his nausea or because he can almost hear Stark's ghost giving him a hard time: _"How can you be so popular and at the same time have so few friends? You're the Antichrist of fun, Rogers!"  
_It's not like he' s doing it on purpose. He has other things to do: he has a scholarship to maintain, just to give an example. Not everyone has billionaire parents, an IQ higher than the entire law school combined and a degree already taken at MIT.  
He, unlike Tony, is not there to spend time between degrees.  
At most he's _there_ , with a mobile phone that he now remembers is not his own, because he hasn't yet learned how to avoid listening to his friend's bullshit.  
But it's too late now. He gave him his word and, he may be a penniless nerd who loves art more than women ( Stark's words, of course), but a promise by Steve Rogers counts more than anything else.  
That's why he finally decides to clean himself up.  
He doesn't have the strength to take a shower, although that's definitely what he needs. He is content to keep his mouth attached to the tap, swallowing water like a thirsty and, when he has found enough balance, he returns shaky in the room.  
With the light off, he drops his jacket and backpack on the floor and lies on a bed that never seemed so comfortable to him.  
Sleep is within reach. He drives it out with a grimace and the display of the mobile phone that Tony lent him, when he forced him to make a change, is a bluish halo suspended on the bed.  
He discovers that the phonebook is even less equipped than his own: a single number combined with a single name.  
_He can do it. The tooth goes away, the pain goes away.  
_«No. No. I can't.»  
_Or not.  
_He comes out of the phone book and throws his cell phone at the foot of the mattress.  
_It's madness.  
_It's also two o'clock in the morning, no one in his right mind would call a perfect stranger at that hour. And to tell you what? _Hi, sorry to bother you but I have a dumb friend and because of a bet, if I hadn't called you he would have thrown my phone into the bay.  
_No, he decides, if he has to, he'll do it well, at a proper time. It's the least he can give to the poor girl who has to disturb on the other side of the line.  
With that thought, he almost immediately collapses asleep.  
  


\- - -

The alarm clock howls punctually, catching him completely unawares.  
With a hangover, the heart is an overexcited fish that goes up the bloodstream and pulsates in every vein.  
Steve hides his head under the pillow, deluding himself that he's escaping the irritating _"pipipi"_ that resonates like a guttering of bullets from a machine gun.  
He would like to have listened to Sam, when he criticized his dresser alarm clock and pointed out to him - more kindly than Stark would have done - that cell phones have a built-in alarm function. If he had done so, by now, he would have heard nothing but silence.  
It's a good sign that, at least, he still remembers not having his own: it means that the alcohol has not eaten his entire brain.  
Steve's looking for the one he threw on the mattress the night before. On the display he can see the time in a flash that hurts his eyes. He doesn't have time to call Tony's friend, he has a lesson to go to.  
He just hopes that the guy wouldn't start sending him parts of the cell phone he's holding hostage to put him in a hurry... also because he wouldn't know where to start to put it back together.

\- - -

Classes lasted until late afternoon.  
It's after six when Steve returns to his dorm. The aftermath of the hangover was calmed down by Sam and a miraculous shoe-soled concoction.  
He sits at his desk, in front of an Art History book to which he pretends to pay attention, and continues to look at the cell phone he has left on the shelf. It is a model not yet released on the market, Stark Industries of course, with facial recognition, voice and more that, if it was explained to him, Steve has not bothered to memorize. He still prefers to insert the pin manually.  
_3 – 2 – 5 – 5  
_The address book was not magically enriched in those hours; under the letter V. stands out the only registered name.  
_Vivian Ward.  
_Who knows why he seems to have heard it before. Maybe it's true that she's a friend of Tony's, maybe, after all and aside from the bets, the guy really wants to help him in his own way to meet someone new. He's already set up blind dates for him in the past – which he'll never talk about, even under torture – and he shouldn't be surprised anymore.  
«Okay, let's get this over with,» he mutters to himself.  
He takes courage and starts the call with the mobile in his ear.  
After two minutes the cell phone still rings empty.  
At the third minute Steve moves him away from his ear and looks at him as if the object were part of a conspiracy to make fun of him, until, suddenly, in response, the provocative notes of a jingle detonate and a voice with a particular metallic note welcomes him from afar.  
«Fuck!»  
When he brings the mobile back to his ear, music and voice are silent.

«Hello?» Steve tries, puzzled.

At first he hears nothing but silence.  
Then...

_«Hey, baby doll.»_

Steve swallows words, breath, _brain_.  
For a long moment the only thing he can do is look at the void, with the mobile in his hands and a heart that has just exploded in his chest.  
On the other side of the line they must not have liked the pause; the voice gets impatient.

_«Are you still there?»_

Little by little Steve comes out of the torpor in which the whole body is locked up, finding himself wrapped in the low and persuasive tones of an unknown voice that he hears for the first time and that, for the first time, leaves him with his ass trembling with anticipation on a dormitory chair.

«Who's talking?» Steve asks.

 _A voice –  
__«Winter.»  
_«Winter... who?»  
_«Soldier.»  
__— a masculine voice._

Steve has no idea what he expected in response and his own question, objectively, was an idiotic one. On the other hand, if the guy on the other side of the line wanted to confuse him, he did it very well.  
Steve shakes his head upset, trying to make some sense out of that call.

«Sorry, I thought this was the number of... Vivian Ward?»  
_«Who?»  
_«Vivian Ward.»

What Steve gets is a vibrant and warm laugh. He hears it reverberate in his chest, like the purring of a cat that has just snuggled up on him.  
He doesn't understand what's so funny, though.

 _«Who says this is Vivian's number?»  
_The trace of subtle irony in the stranger pushes Steve to caution. «A friend.»  
_«Your friend must have a terrible sense of humor.»  
_«You can't even imagine it.» He bends his back forward, rests his forehead on the desk and the mumbling bounces off the wooden surface on which it was spread: «But, more specifically, what did I miss this time?»  
_«Vivian Ward is the name of the protagonist of Pretty Woman. The film with Julia Roberts in which she's a prostitute, d’you know?»  
_«I don't believe it... I... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I swear I had no idea!»  
_«Never mind, it's not even a bad movie.»_ It's the equivalent of a shrug of his shoulders.

Steve promises himself to strangle Tony as soon as he has her on hand.  
_He swears he'll make him pay!_

 _«However, maybe you're not clear that this is a hot line.»  
_«A... what?!»

_He’ll make him pay so bad!_

Yet the line fills up again with the laughter of the unknown; a young and cheerful crackling like a bonfire on the beach, and flaming invisible tongues stretch out in warm caresses capable of warming Steve's face.  
They may be the same age, he reflects.

 _«Your friend has really managed to screw you, huh?»  
_«After that, I'm not sure I want him as a friend anymore,» Steve puffs. «I didn't even think there were male erotic lines.»  
_«We're a rare species, like unicorns. Make a wish.»_

For a moment, the bonfire turns into a wildfire.  
The last sentence is just a whisper. The stranger - Winter? - blows and, below, Steve can also hear the sound of his breath, as if he were in that room with him. As if the receptionist were sitting next to Steve and bent over him, breathing on his neck.  
Immediately below the lobe of his right ear a heat stain opens and the redness, which had previously affected his cheeks, is transferred to his neck and ears.  
Steve hesitates.  
The receptionist starts talking again as if nothing had happened, but Steve has the feeling that he's perfectly aware of the effect he has on the audience.

_«I have female and male clients, I don't make distinctions. I'm good at it anyway.»_

Steve doesn't know what those words cause him.  
_Without distinction.  
_It's as if suddenly a door, somewhere inside himself, had opened a crack that he had never noticed before. Steve hears the air bleed on his ankles, he shudders, but he doesn't know where it came from. 

_«Have I lost you?»_

The door slams and Steve returns to reality.

«No, no, I'm still here.»  
_«And are you also going to stay there?»  
_«What is it?»

A sigh. Winter doesn't seem annoyed, he's, rather, stocking up on his breath and patience and, when he starts talking again, Steve imagines him smiling.  
He doesn't know why. He just knows that along with the young voice and an accent that reminds him of home _– he's from Brooklyn, that guy must be from Brooklyn! –_ , there's a sad and sweet smile that runs along the entire line and tenderly caresses his ear, cheek, _wherever he stands_ , as if it were him, now, the unicorn.

_«Online, man. With me.»_

_Oh._

«Yes.»

Steve frowns. He thinks about the various reasons why he should hang up, but no one seems enough to convince him to end the call. After all, they're not doing anything wrong.

«I mean, we're just talking, aren't we?»  
_«Are you gay?»_

The point-blank question wasn't expected, though.

«What?»  
_«Don't worry, it's not a third-grade prelude or a trick question, and if the inquisition catches you, I'll protect you, baby doll. I'm asking you this because straight guys usually don't give a shit about staying on the phone with fairies. Do you follow?»_

Maybe. No. Steve isn't sure.  
Actually, he never asked himself too many questions about his sexuality. At nineteen, a life spent with a nose through books, no important love stories and a shameless crush on the smartest and most beautiful intern who's ever set foot in university, you almost take it for granted that you're straight. At least until you can prove otherwise.

«I'm sure there's a lot of straight guys who are confused about what they want and what they like.» Steve ventures to carry on the conversation. He likes to talk to that guy and if Winter was a student on campus, straight or not, he wouldn't be at all confused about what he wants: he wants to be his friend. Absolutely.  
_«Sure, but confused straight guys don't pay five dollars a minute to clear their head.»  
_«Is the fee five dollars? But it's a robbery!»  
_«A-ah, it's a job, man. And you're still on the line.»_

He realizes that he has no excuse and so he says the first thing that comes to his mind and that, knowing him, may not even be so far from the truth:

«It seemed rude to me to hang up on you.»  
_«What a gentleman.»  
_«To be fair it's not really my mobile...»  
_«Isn't it your funny friend's?»  
_«Yes. I lost a bet. To pay the pledge I would have to call _Vivian_ ,» Steve turns his nose up in a grimace. «‘cause he thinks I spend too much time alone. You know the rest.»

For a moment it seems that the line is turned off: the operator doesn't talk and Steve doesn't understand if it's because he's still digesting the fact that Tony gave him the name of a woman _(he'll kill him, kill him, kill him, that idiot!)_ or because he was so idiot that he didn't get it before.  
But when the other one starts talking again, it's not to say anything about what Steve expects.

_«In this case, how about you take revenge of him and stay on the phone until we run out of credit?»_

Winter must have a bad influence on him, because Steve presses his tongue on the palate and tastes the idea. He's not convinced that it's enough to settle the score - neither is he really going to take revenge on Tony's childish bravado - but he doesn't mind being able to keep talking to the stranger.

«Unfortunately, he's rich, I don't think he'd care much.»  
_«More reason to take advantage of it and make_ me _a little richer!»_

Steve laughs.  
He has to admit that the receptionist has his audacity. It's not like Stark, who can't wait to throw in the face of the world the hateful superiority of a bored-brilliant-rascal-meets-ordinary-plebeians, Winter has the impudence of a neighborhood rascal, of a rebel who steals from the rich to give to the poor. Or, in this case, to keep to himself.

 _«You have a nice laugh.»  
_«Ah... thank you...» Steve stutters, embarrassed.  
_«Relax, it's just a compliment, you won't suddenly become gay. Even if it's contagious, we're on the phone, you're safe from my faggy germs.»_

Steve frowns. For the first time since he started that call, he lower his gaze bothered by something that shouldn't even touch him, that doesn't concern him and for which he has no right to get upset. Yet the annoyance is a thorn in his side and prevents him from remaining silent.

 _«Hey, I was joking –»  
_«Don't call them fags» interrupts it abruptly. «Your germs, I mean... I’m sorry, I know it's an idiotic request, but even though I know you were joking, I really rather you don't.»

The pause that follows is endless.  
Steve is afraid that he has said too much, that he has gone into facts that don't concern him, and that he has shot gratuitous and unrequested judgments. But the light roar of a soft, barely audible laugh, like the sound of a waterfall hidden in the distance, suggests to him that Winter didn't mind and is willing to please him.

 _«Okay, I won't say it again.»  
_Steve sighs relieved. «Thanks.»  
_«You're welcome, sugar.»  
_«Now you're fucking with me, right?»  
_«Yup. But I like you, man. From your velvet voice, I wouldn't give you more than nineteen years or twenty tops, and yet you got a knightly old soul.»  
_«Okay, now you gotta help me out. Was that a compliment?»  
_«Yes, genius, it was.»_

Steve's laughing again.  
He straightens his back, sitting better, relaxed.  
At first he didn't think this phone call would last that long, he didn't even think he'd want anything to do with anyone he found across the line. Now, instead, he squeezed his cell phone so hard against his ear that it left the rectangular mold on his cheek, but he doesn't miss a single word the guy said.

 _«So, what do I call you?»  
_«Steve?»  
_«Steve.»  
_«Yes.»  
«Is that your real name, Steve?»  
«Y-Y-Yeah. Why, isn't Winter yours?»  
_«I' m going to give you a moment to think about the imbecility of the question you just asked.»  
_«Okay, okay, I know that's not your real name!»  
_«Wow! You're a smart guy.»  
_«Fuck you, are you done fucking around?»  
_«Oww, Stevie, don’t be so_ _foul-mouthed!»_

Steve pulls the mobile away from his cheek just to take a glance on a display where the name “VIVIAN WARD” is written all in capitals, under the icon of a raised handset. Silent and Winter, as well as being a rascal with a bronze face, is also sharp, because he understands – even without knowing him – the meaning of his silence.

 _«All right, I'm done, that was the last thrashing_.» he murmurs, sounding like a puppy seeking forgiveness from his master. _«Can we be friends again?»  
_Steve smiles. «You mean you' re back to taking my money.»  
Somehow, he knows Winter's doing it too. _«I'm still taking those, and as I recall, we've already established that they belonged to your funny friend. But now that I think about it… we've been on the phone for a long time, and it's weird that the credit on your sim hasn't run out yet.»  
_«You think so?»  
_«Wouldn't he have one of those subscriptions that goes right into his bank account?»  
_«Oh no...»  
Winter seems brooding. _«Do you want to stay on the phone until we reach $1,000?»_

_God! He' s barely known him ten minutes and he's already taking him down a terrible road!_

«I don't think that would be a good idea.»  
_«So is it time we say goodbye?»  
_«I'd say so, it's getting pretty late and I have to study.» Steve says, mostly to convince himself.  
_«Yeah, you did seem like a proper lad, actually.»  
_«Not to mention nerdy, huh?»  
_«No. It's to say you look like a guy with a head on your shoulders, who studies because he' s got a goal to achieve and he's committed to it.»_

Steve's blushing.  
Winter giggles and he must have realized he's got him in more than one way.

 _«Told ya I'm as good with girls as I am with guys. And think how much you'd like me if I tried to get you hard and get you an orgasm.»  
_«...Jesus...»

Steve opens and closes his mouth, dumbfounded; someone must have turned the heater on or set the whole room on fire, because suddenly he feels the heat above and below the skin, on his face, in his stomach and several inches down.  
Winter's laughter comes back, a light wave that grazes his ear and almost immediately recedes.

 _«It' s been a pleasure, Steve. Seriously, it's been the sweetest Benjamins I've ever earned.»  
_«Yeah. Same here.» He stops. «Benjamin aside.»

Steve won't let him go, but he ran out of excuses to keep him on the phone - and to be honest, he never had any.  
He bites the inside of his cheek and slowly releases all the oxygen collected in his lungs, a long, slow sigh that goes down into his cell phone's microphone.

«Good night, Winter, thanks for the talk.»  
_«See you around, Steve.»_

No, they won't.  
And when the call ends, the phone turns silent in Steve's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed I haven't set a specific date for the fic, but we are NOT in 2019. We are between 2000 and 2010.  
> There would be another important note to do on the hot lines, but we could summarize it in: I have no idea how they work and it's a totally fictionalized version, so let me live! I strongly suspect that a male switchboard operator is more unique than rare, even more a line for gay men, but for the sake of "I want this fic and I'll get it at any cost" we'll all give a damn! *_*
> 
> [ Stucky Bingo 2019 - square: Tony Stark ]


End file.
